


The Wind Still Blows

by spike_my_heart



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alive Marco Bott, Alternate Universe - High School, Everyone's the same age pretty much, F/F, F/M, Homophobia, I'll add more tags when needed, Jean is actually a sap, M/M, New Kid Marco, Slow Burn, Thank god for that, apart from the new kid marco, but it gets resolved thank god, he's a year older because he had to retake a year while travelling, marco has a horse, non-binary hanji, self-isolated Jean, that isn't Jean, will eventually get smutty, yet again another Highschool AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 03:14:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14251851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spike_my_heart/pseuds/spike_my_heart
Summary: Marco is the nervous new boy in year twelve that hadn’t transferred from Sina Junior to Rose Secondary or been in Rose all along. Jean is the angst-filled outsider that has big dreams of leaving the Sina-Rose-Maria Schools System. For Marco, Jean is refreshing, a new side that he hasn’t seen before. Jean can’t understand why Marco would want to stay in Rose Secondary, let alone continue to University Maria. But as Marco begins to reach out to Jean, his feelings change and he comes to terms with his sexuality. Jean already knows he likes guys, that’s always been the norm for him. But it’s only when he tries to communicate that when he starts to face homophobia. Will Marco be a hope in the darkness or a hindrance in life?





	The Wind Still Blows

**Author's Note:**

> Holy heck, this is my first AOT/SNK fic, I may not finish it. If I give up, I will mark it as discontinued, but for now, full steam ahead (just like me shipping Jean x Marco)!

Mum took in the first box three days ago. Dad came after her two days ago with more boxes. They took the hire van with the last lot of the big boxes yesterday. A good five-hour drive. I took the last boxes out this morning, retrieved my stuff from under the floorboards and had a mad dash to the store for candy and coffee (god knows I’m gonna need it for this drive). Now, at three am, I am on my way to Prudhoe (what a name).

The car still smells like cigarette smoke and liquid courage, so I spend the first five minutes with the AC on and the windows down. My old friends had thrown a goodbye party for me on Monday, but it’d been overshadowed by the fact that they had just gone to school and I hadn’t. Then I hadn’t been home for the second of September, I’d been at the garage getting my car fixed and washed. And now, on the third of September, fashionably late, I am about to go to Rose Secondary, Year Twelve.

My phone rings.

“Mum?”

“Marco darling,” she sounds out of breath. “Marco, did you check the key-box?”

“Yes mum, but, um, it’s three am; why are you up? You left two keys in there, as well as a twenty-pound note and two lollipops.”

“My, it’s a good thing you checked! Did you take the keys out?”

“Yes, they’re on the table, along with my keys, your keys and dad’s keys and one of the lollipops. I’ve got the money and the other lollipop and all the boxes that were left in the kitchen and the hall.”

“Oh, thank heavens for that. Sorry love, I just woke up in a cold sweat about three minutes ago and I’d just realised why.”

“Great. Can I call you back when I’m ten minutes away, in about five hours when I’ve had a coffee and that lollipop?”

“Right, of course! See you in a few hours, Marco! Bye! Bye-bye!”

“Bye,” I hang up, rubbing my eyes. “Goddamnit, mum, get some sleep.”

I get in my car, flick on the engine and plug in my phone. I whistle appreciatively as All Star starts to play. Way too early in the morning for anything else.

Goodbye house, I think as I pull out from my parking spot onto the busy street. Can’t say I’ll miss living here.

One hour later, I am on the road, out of London and jamming along to my playlist. I’ve been told that my room is going to be bigger (obviously, the prices are way better in the middle of nowhere) and that I’ll have my own bathroom (thank god, finally). But what makes it even cooler, and probably the reason I haven’t pitched a fit about moving to nowhere, is that I have a dance studio nearby that my parents say I can go to, there’s a pool in the backyard which is apparently large, and we’re close enough to school for me to walk in instead of getting public transport or driving.

Two hours later and I am bored. I still have music for another three hours (all I need) but I’ve got some crappy night time radio on instead. The coffee’s wearing off, but I’m sucking on the lollipop now. I think I’ll stop in a bit for more coffee and candy. I’d be lying if I said I liked moving house. I just want to stay in the same place for more than two years. I’ve been two years in France, four in Spain (two north, two south) and before that I can hardly remember. I am English, though, with my French mum and my English dad.

Three hours sees me at a gas station in the middle of nowhere with a steaming hot cup of some putrid filth they’re trying to sell as coffee and a croissant (chocolate of course). And then I’m back on the road.

Four hours into the drive and I am officially exhausted.

Five hours since leaving London and I’ve texted mum that I’m ten minutes away. It’s eight in the morning, and school starts at nine.

Shit. I have school today. My first day at Rose Secondary will be their third. A Wednesday, no less.

I pull up at the new home to meet mum and dad in the drive (we have a drive now, how swanky) and immediately (after smothering me in love and affection) we start to offload the boxes. I walk into the hall. It looks small, but as I follow the stairs up and turn right, the room I step into is huge. I’d call it to be about five metres by four, with my bed and a large pile of boxes taking up most of the space. It’s perfect. There’s a door to my right which I think leads to the bathroom (oh, look, it does) and the windows are large but unobtrusive.

I’m startled out of my naval-gazing by a shout from downstairs.

“Marcooo! I’m taking you to school now, come on down!”

I sigh and yell back. “Coming, dad! Let me grab my rucksack and books!”

Shoving a few pens, pencils and notebooks into my bag with a laptop, I flick off the lights and head downstairs.

“Hey dad.”

“You ready for day one?”

“Technically day three, but looking forwards to it. More or less.”

“More or less? ‘Spose that’s okay. Now, say bye to your mother and we’ll head off.”

I stick my head into the kitchen, where she’s nursing a mug of tea (and not enough sleep, by the looks of it), surrounded by half-unpacked boxes.

“See ya, mum. Be back at half-three.”

“Take care! Don’t break too many hearts!”

“Muuum!”

I leave the house with red ears and a scowl. Dad’s walking me in, but it’s only a short walk, and he grants me the small mercy of not talking to me (thank god, I’m about to fall asleep). The school is surrounded by quite a large wall and a few parked cars, and there’s a steady stream of boys and girls heading in. Very, very few of them are accompanied to the gates by parents, but there is a mass of adults standing about a hundred metres away, waving the younger ones off. Dad walks me straight through the gates and into the front office.

“Hi. I’m here with Marco Bodt, year twelve?”

The lady looks up, smiling pleasantly and passes me a clipboard. It’s simple stuff, name, age, etcetera. I’m done in no time, and she’s handing me a student ID, a schedule and some other papers deemed important. And then it’s a whirlwind.

Dad’s saying goodbye, I’m being led on a tour of the school, and then it’s nine.

It’s nine and I’m in a small classroom with eleven other students in it. Six of them are clustered around one table, another three together, and one boy on his own at the front of the class with headphones on. Then the teacher comes in. He claps his hands once and everyone scuttles to their desks. I go over to him and introduce myself.

“Um, hi sir. I’m Marco, I’m new today.”

He has the weirdest eyebrows, they’re massive. “Marco… Bodt?” I nod. “Very well. Write your name on the board and introduce yourself to the class.”

I turn, blushing, to the board and write out my name.

“Hi everyone, um… I’m Marco Bodt, I speak English, French and I’m learning Spanish, I like dancing and listening to music, and my favourite colour is purple.”

There is a smattering of awkward applause and then one boy sticks up his hand. The teacher (who’s name I still don’t know, damn it) points to him.

“Where were you born?”

“The UK, in London.”

“Have you always lived in the UK?”

Man, this sure feels like an interrogation. “No, I normally move countries every few years.”

“Why did you come to Rose Sec instead of staying in London?”

“Er, my dad’s job required him to move to this area, and my mum and I came along too.”

“Do you –”

“That’s quite enough, mister Jaeger. Let him breathe.” The teacher frowns.

“Yes, Mr Erwin. I was just going to ask –”

“That’s enough. Marco, you can sit there between Sasha Blouse and Jean Kirstein, yep, right there.”

To add even more embarrassment, it’s literally the seat at the front of the class where no one wants to sit (oh, boy, the day just got better). Then class starts. Mr Erwin fills me in; we’ve not been doing much at all yet, Rose Secondary always has small classes because of their commitment to teaching well. My schedule says that after break I have Spanish in another classroom on this floor, then lunch, and then I have mathematics on the floor above, then I get to go home. Thank god Wednesday is an easy day.

Mr Erwin turns to the board and puts up the questions (history related, it being that class), telling us this is just revision. It’s very easy. A few minutes after I’m finished (I said they were very easy), Sasha (I think that’s her name?) nudges me.

“Oy, are you stuck too?” She whispers

I glance up at Mr Erwin, who’s on his computer.

“No, I’m done,” I mutter back, leaning over.

“WHAT!?” I jump back to my seat as she shrieks. “How!?”

“Sasha! Silence! It’s day three and you’re giving me a headache!” Mr Erwin barks at her angrily. “Pray tell why you decided to disturb the class?”

“Sorry sir,” she blinks. “But the new kid’s already done! And faster than Mikasa!”

“EH?” The interrogation kid (what’s his name?) nearly falls of his chair. “Mikasa, aren’t you done yet?”

A girl with a red scarf on shakes her head. “No, Eren. Don’t expect me to always finish first.”

Okay, Eren is loud, Mikasa has a scarf, I sit next to Sasha and Jean. Four out of eleven. Speaking of Jean, I hear a low voice next to me, that I probably wasn’t mean to hear;

“That’s not what you to him said last night.”

I struggle to stifle a snort, and nearly get whiplash turning around to stare, wide-eyed, at Jean.

Somewhere in the background I can hear Eren whining about something, Sasha talking loudly again, and Mr Erwin trying to get the class’s attention. But Jean speaks again;

“Shit, you heard that?”

And I break into laughter. Sleep-deprived and surviving on coffee and candy, I can tell that Rose Secondary is going to be great.

\-----

I’m regretting not letting my parents postpone going to school ‘till Thursday. I’m so tired. I’ve been introduced to everyone at break (apart from Jean, because he sat alone).

But as break time draws to a close, I feel kind of left out. I haven’t been with these people for more than a few hours, but they’ve all been together all of their life. I think the novelty of a new person is already wearing off as we all leave the classroom and turn left to get to Spanish. Eren (loud kid), Armin (blondie boy), Mikasa (scarf girl) and Annie (strong ‘n’ silent) leave for German, which I’ll say is quite obscure. Then Reiner, Berdolt (thick as thieves, those two), Ymir and Historia (tall and short much?) head to French. There are only four of us in each class, and it sounds amazing. I’m with Sasha, Connie and Jean.

Spanish hadn’t ever been a struggle for me, and this class should be good fun. I’m sat next to Jean again, and after introducing myself to the class (in Spanish, this time), I sit down. Our teacher is called Hanji Zoe, but they told me to drop the “miss” or “mister” because they’re non-binary. It’s good that the school accepts that kind of thing. It’s really open-minded.

I’m lucky the classroom is big, because Hanji is crazy. I can barely keep up with what is going on as I take hurried notes on my laptop. Then between the two periods we get a break, so as Connie and Sasha run for the snacks machine, I turn to talk to Jean.

“Um, hi. You’re Jean, right?”

He looks up, blinking in confusion. “Yeah, and you’re freckles.”

I scratch the back of my neck, blushing slightly. I have a lot of freckles, everywhere. “It’s – it’s Marco, actually.”

Jean smirks. “I’m messing with you. Chill. You living in small-town Prudhoe or somewhere more rural?”

It’s the most I’ve heard him speak. “I’m in Prudhoe, in a little cul-de-sac called… Welburn Close?”

He nods. “A few of us live in that area. Think we live on the same street.”

He turns back to his laptop as Connie and Sasha come back in, munching on snacks.

The rest of Spanish class passes without incident, and Hanji dismisses us early. I hurry to pack my bag so I can follow the others to the canteen, but by the time I’m ready, Connie and Sasha have already hurried on.

“Hey Jean, can I sit with you for lunch? I don’t know where the cafeteria is.”

Jean blinks. “I’ll show you. But you might want to sit with Eren and co? I don’t sit with them anymore.”

I scratch my head, ears burning slightly. “No, they seem too loud. If it’s okay to sit with you?”

“Well,” shrugs Jean, “don’t complain if you can never be one of their cool guys from now on.”

I laugh, realise he’s being serious, and shrug. “Not like I wanted fame or glory. I just want to settle down and blend in.”

Jean looks at me incredulously, chews on his lip a bit, and picks up his bag. “C’mon. We’ll get food and head to where I normally chill. The canteen’s too loud and busy.”

I swing my rucksack onto my shoulder, wave to Hanji, who’s sat on their desk with an expression of amusement, and follow Jean out of the door.

We go down a few floors and there’s a cesspit of children and food. I follow Jean to a counter on the far wall, and grab the same stock-standard sandwich as him, an apple juice (he gets orange) and a cookie. I fumble for a second with my wallet, trying to get my card out, then I pay after Jean. It’s nice to have someone to follow like a lost lamb on your first day, and it helps that he’s not too talkative, considering I’ve had basically no sleep. As we leave the canteen I glance to Eren’s table, easily the loudest. I’m glad we’re not eating there.

We end up in a classroom on the third floor, but it looks more like a recording studio.

“Hey, what is this room?”

Jean shrugs. “It’s the fourth music room that no one ever uses. I asked the teachers first thing Monday if there were any unused classrooms at lunch time, and they said I could use this one as long as I didn’t spill my drinks.”

I tilt my head. “That’s the first thing you did when you got to school?”

“God yeah,” Jean nods. “The teachers are honestly so useful when you need something like this. Now no one is allowed to use this room at lunch apart from our grade, just because I asked. And all the cool group stay in the canteen anyway.”  
“If you don’t mind me asking, why don’t you really seem to get along with the others?”

Jean sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “There was an incident last year, I got into a fight with Eren, and I kind of managed to ruin all of my friendships in the next few months. And then I cut myself off, didn’t even talk to Connie and Sasha all summer, and basically isolated myself. It was a dumb fight to start with, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, we’d just disagreed about this new year’s party thing that they organise every year, but I was feeling particularly pissed, and I yelled and chucked some stuff at Eren, he fell over and broke some expensive shit, we argued about having to pay for it, Sasha joked about me being on my man-period, I yelled at her, Connie backed her up and I yelled at him too. And I’d never been particularly good friends with any of the others. The Titan-shifters – sorry, that’s the people who moved from Titan Primary to Rose Secondary – Annie, Berdolt and Reiner, they were kind of close, but they always formed their own group.”

I pause in unwrapping my sandwich. “Sounds like drama.” I look down. “What flavour is this sandwich even meant to be?”

“Huh? Oh, they’re just cheese and chutney. It’s good actually, you’ll like it unless – are you allergic to anything?”

“Just pollen in large doses. You?”

I bite into my sandwich, and am surprised to find that the weird brown stuff tastes really nice with the cheese. I look over at Jean, who’s sat a desk away (two bros, chilling in a music room, five feet apart because they’re socially isolated), and enjoying his sandwich.

“Nah, I just don’t particularly like mango.”

I look at him in mock-surprise. “Mango? What dried fruits do you even eat? What flavour sorbet do you order in fancy places?”

“Pineapple and coconut, to answer your questions. I like dried pineapple and coconut sorbet.”

I shrug. “I guess that makes sense.”

“My, thank you for accepting my individuality.”

The sarcasm is dripping off his words, so I roll my eyes.

We don’t talk much after that, just eat and play on our phones. He plugs in to a bit of music, and I don’t have the heart to tell him I can hear the pulsing beat through his tinny earbuds. I wonder what he’s listening to.

\-----

After Maths, I get to head home (finally). I pack all my stuff up and text my dad that I’m on my way back. At the gates to the real world, I bump into Jean (Jesus, I know I needed at least one friend, but this is ridiculous), and when I start heading home, he appears to either be heading in the same direction, or stalking me (which, from the amount of time I’ve spent with him today, wouldn’t surprise me). I turn around after about a hundred metres, and wave. He’s only a few paces behind me.

“Hey Jean, you stalking me?”

“No, we just live really close, remember? Also, this is the way to Colossal’s. And technically The Armoured, too.”

“The what and the what?”

“Colossal is a burger place, they do fries and milkshakes and shit, The Armoured is the place that does the fancy stuff, like tacos and pad Thai. I’m dropping into Colossal’s on the way home, so I’m not going to be following you the whole time.”

“Mkay.” My phone buzzes with a text wishing me good luck finding our house and asking if I want biscuits (to which I respond, heck yeah). “Also, where do I get the link for Hanji’s homework?”

Jean swears, grabbing a pen from his pocket. He grabs my hand and without warning starts to write an email.

“Okay, email me when you get in, I’ll send it over. I’ll show you how to use the google classroom tomorrow. Can’t believe they didn’t set you up for it yet. Can’t believe Hanji for giving us homework the first week back.” He scowls.

I beam back at him, pinker than usual. “Thanks, Jean.”

He mumbles a “no problem” back gruffly, and I wonder when the last time he was thanked was. He stops abruptly, looks around and says, “I missed my turning.”

I can’t stop the smile on my face at his expression. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Jean.”

“‘Kay. See ya freckles, Marco.”

I wave to him as he turns back around and heads up a main road on his right. I continue walking home. Time to face the parents.

**Author's Note:**

> Please come say hi or something, this being my first public fic I am very inept and appreciate all feedback and support!


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